"Beasts of the Southern Wild," showing at the Grandin Theatre in Roanoke and bathing in rave reviews whose logic simply escapes me, is the bastard child of "Trainspotting" and "Blair Witch Project." I would say it contains the worst elements of both, but I can find no best elements in any of these movies.
This one has "Trainspotting's" obnoxious filth in every frame, its complete lack of anybody to like or even understand. It suffers from "Blair Witch's" cinematography: bouncing cameras that cause almost instant nausea in a movie that doesn't need to move us any closer to a run toward the bathroom.
This is the story of a six-year-old who is simultaneously being prepared for her father's death and the end of the world in a hellhole delta island called The Bathtub. It is a community based in filth, drunkenness and basic survival, which the dying father wants to give his daughter, Hushpuppy. Surviving to live here is not exactly a legacy.
This is one of those movies whose dialect is such that it fairly screams for subtitles ("Trainspotting" used the word "fuck" a lot and it was the only word in the film I understood). Irish, British and Scottish movies--wherein English is allegedly spoken--are often guilty of desperately needing subtitles.
I don't want to write much more about this waste of time because it so thoroughly offended me that I wanted to leave after five minutes. My companion is one of those people who believes that if you buy a movie ticket, the movie owns you until it's over, so I sat there steaming.
Miss it. You will have missed nothing worthwhile. It is, in the vernacular, a piece of shit.